"It's a long way down," the captain said, frowing. There was a pause as both men stared at the radar reflection on the screen and watched the number display count slowly down: 485...484...483....
"Okay, so it's 480 miles away," the captain said. "What's our closest approach in we don't change course?"
"Ah, about 200 miles," Sullivan replied.
"It's a long way down," the captain said again.
"Yeah," Sullivan finally replied, breaking the tense silence. He and the captain both had the same thought suddenly: Sullivan moved his hand toward a recessed keypad.
"Sully, what's the pressure down there?" the captain asked.
Sully snorted. "Yeah, pressure." He consulted a second display screen, one of the several that were at his station and one of the dozens that were onboard the ship. "Ah, it's about 810 kilos down there."
"Eight hundred kilograms per square inch," the captain pondered. He glanced up and down the length of the command compartment--the whole thing was about twelve feet long, and round; being here was like being inside a large pipe. It was a large pipe, with rounded capped ends--that shape was the best for enduring the vast range of pressures that were involved in launching from the Greeser Station" long rail, dropping through empty space, and operating in the atmosphere of the giant Saturn, scooping its atmosphere, processing out the helium, and returning to the station on Titan. It was a challenging design problem.
"Yeah, well, even at 810, we've still got the ten percent safety, and--"
Captain Tennyson cut him off. "Ten percent, yeah. And who knows what's happening in the upper atmosphere. One pressure outlier, and we're sunk." He stared at the radar reflection again. "Can you get anything else on this thing?"
"Not from way up here, Captain."
"Where are we right now, Sully?"
"We're at Flight Level 504." He said the numbers phonetically: five zero four.
"And that thing's how far below us?"
"Ah, it's stationary, floating at about Flight Level 135," Sully said.
"Jesus, that's a long way down," the captain said. "Okay, let's stay on our present course and keep scooping for the present. Keep an eye on that thing, Sully. When we get near closest approach, ring me, and we'll take a look." The captain had already turned and was proceeding down the length of the command compartment toward the hatch in the back. "I'll be in my cabin."
"Maintain course, watch, notify on closest approach," Sullivan responded crisply and professionally. "Aye sir."
"Okay, so it's 480 miles away," the captain said. "What's our closest approach in we don't change course?"
"Ah, about 200 miles," Sullivan replied.
"It's a long way down," the captain said again.
"Yeah," Sullivan finally replied, breaking the tense silence. He and the captain both had the same thought suddenly: Sullivan moved his hand toward a recessed keypad.
"Sully, what's the pressure down there?" the captain asked.
Sully snorted. "Yeah, pressure." He consulted a second display screen, one of the several that were at his station and one of the dozens that were onboard the ship. "Ah, it's about 810 kilos down there."
"Eight hundred kilograms per square inch," the captain pondered. He glanced up and down the length of the command compartment--the whole thing was about twelve feet long, and round; being here was like being inside a large pipe. It was a large pipe, with rounded capped ends--that shape was the best for enduring the vast range of pressures that were involved in launching from the Greeser Station" long rail, dropping through empty space, and operating in the atmosphere of the giant Saturn, scooping its atmosphere, processing out the helium, and returning to the station on Titan. It was a challenging design problem.
"Yeah, well, even at 810, we've still got the ten percent safety, and--"
Captain Tennyson cut him off. "Ten percent, yeah. And who knows what's happening in the upper atmosphere. One pressure outlier, and we're sunk." He stared at the radar reflection again. "Can you get anything else on this thing?"
"Not from way up here, Captain."
"Where are we right now, Sully?"
"We're at Flight Level 504." He said the numbers phonetically: five zero four.
"And that thing's how far below us?"
"Ah, it's stationary, floating at about Flight Level 135," Sully said.
"Jesus, that's a long way down," the captain said. "Okay, let's stay on our present course and keep scooping for the present. Keep an eye on that thing, Sully. When we get near closest approach, ring me, and we'll take a look." The captain had already turned and was proceeding down the length of the command compartment toward the hatch in the back. "I'll be in my cabin."
"Maintain course, watch, notify on closest approach," Sullivan responded crisply and professionally. "Aye sir."
